


To Build a Future on Earth

by CandyQueenAO3



Series: Of Raphael [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Family Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Uriel (Good Omens), Temporary Discorporation, They/Them Pronounds for Dagon (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), rating may go up idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3
Summary: Armageddon has come and gone (rather unsuccessfully), Aziraphale and Crowley are free to explore their new lives together (in EVERY sense of the word), and Raphael, meanwhile, adjusts to living on Earth full-time.The sequel to "Of Raphael" is a story of a wedding, a brawl in Heaven, disasterous drunken flirting, and a family.*~*~*~*~*EXERPT FROM CHAPTER 8:“Dearest, are you alright?” the younger of the two angels asked, reaching out to comfort the trembling demon.“I was just joking about smiting you, wiggles,” Raphael said.  He caught the terrified look Crowley was throwing him and his smile vanished. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”A shiver ran through the demon, his eyes fixed resolutely on Raphael’s own which had gone a hideous lime-green.  He felt himself stagger backwards against a bookshelf.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Of Raphael [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691935
Comments: 188
Kudos: 182





	1. Moving In

Raphael closed the door of A.Z. Fell & Co behind him with a soft click as he stepped out onto the streets of Soho. 

He folded his hands in front of his stomach and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Well. That was awkward,” he said to himself.

Not two hours hence, Crowley had come bursting into the bookshop clutching a messy bouquet of tulips to accept Raphael’s suggestion to “share” Aziraphale - in a three-way romantic relationship - not knowing that the two angels were _father and son_.

_That’s probably my bad,_ Raphael thought. _I should have clarified a few things when I went to Crowley’s apartment earlier._

The Archangel had no real destination in mind when he picked a direction and started walking; he was really more interested in enjoying the sensation of being back on Earth after a lengthy imprisonment than musing over his son’s love-life.

_When_ was _the last time I had a three-way? Surely it wasn’t Justinian and Theodora? Couldn’t have been_ that _far back…_

He wasn’t _just_ thinking about previous lustful encounters, however. Raphael also found his mind wandering back to Heaven and the _very distinct_ lack of Armageddon. Now that it was over (cancelled?), and he had been reassured of Aziraphale’s safety, the Archangel would most likely be pressed back into active duty. 

The thought of trying to help his siblings wrangle ten million angels back into their jobs, however, made him feel vaguely nauseous. 

_And besides,_ he thought with a huff. _Those assholes lied to me about starting Armageddon, tried to threaten me,_ and _they kept me locked up!_

That last thought was what made up Raphael’s mind. No, he wasn’t going back to Heaven; at least not until after things Upstairs had cooled down.

Though, he’d need a place to stay in the meantime…

Raphael’s walk came to a stop in front of an empty lot. A few dandelions poked through the sand, and various bits of detritus were sprinkled about like a tasteful commentary on Pollution’s effects. The whole area had been cordoned off by a rusted chain link fence whereupon a dilapidated sign hung. The sign’s lettering had been bleached off by time and weather, but the faded words “Coming 2001” still lingered.

It was fairly obvious this lot had been abandoned quite a while ago.

_Jackpot!_

Raphael turned his head this way and that, trying to see if any humans were paying attention to him. All of them were going about their days in some way or another, ignoring the tall, dark-haired Archangel in their midst. Raphael rejoiced inwardly; concealing miracles were always easier to cast when you were _already_ unnoticed.

He extended both arms outwards, perpendicular to his body, then brought his palms slamming together with the distant rumble of thunder. A few humans stopped to stare up at the cloudless sky. 

Raphael rubbed his hands together like he was trying to warm them up on an icy day, and then pulled them apart but still grasped inwards like he was gripping an invisible football. With a twist of his wrists, the empty air between his hands warped and hummed with an invisible power. 

“I’m thinking something minimalist, yet cozy,” he said, voice straining from the effort of casting both a concealing miracle _and_ a massive summoning at once.

When he yanked his hands apart, the empty space in the middle of the lot wasn’t so empty anymore. A tiny, self-contained singularity appeared and promptly began belching forth the vague shapes that would coalesce into a building meant to house flats.

_Like spaghettification in reverse,_ Raphael thought, reminiscing fondly on his brief time as a star-maker.[1]

The area was rent with loud, rumbling groans of twisting metal and this time _every_ human on the street stopped to try and detect where the sound was coming from. A few of them even ran into the middle of the road while covering their heads like they expected the buildings around them to come crashing down.

_Oops, forgot a muffling miracle too._

Raphael didn’t get the chance to cast it, as the last bit of building slotted into place. He dropped the concealment at the same time he tossed up a miracle that gently coaxed every human in London to believe that his flat had _always_ been there.

The Archangel stood proudly in front of the building, hands on his hips like a conquering hero. Next step was to furnish it… oh! Before he forgot…

Raphael snapped a scrap of paper with his new address written on it into existence. He held the paper between his pointer and middle finger like a cigarette and blew on it. The written address instantly folded itself into a tiny origami crane and started flapping its little paper wings as though it were alive.

“Head over to A.Z. Fell & Co. It’s an old bookstore in Soho; you can’t miss it. Deliver yourself to either Crowley or Aziraphale, doesn’t matter who,” Raphael commanded of the little bird.

The paper crane chirped, then sped off to its destination. The Archangel turned his eyes back to his new flat with an excited grin. Life in London was going to be _fun!_

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley felt _something_ land on his head and he jerked upright from the couch with a yelp. He reached up to pull _whatever_ the thing was out of his hair and was more than a little surprised to find a paper crane there.

“What in the… Oi, angel, ‘s this yours?” he asked.

The naked angel currently writhing below him weakly batted the crane away.

“Oh Crowley, none of your jokes now, _please._ Just get back down here,” Aziraphale demanded and yanked the demon down for another kiss.

*~*~*~*~*

Raphael was sprawled on his couch (a very lovely grey sectional!), one leg propped up on the cushions, the other resting limply on the floor with his arms stretched along the back. He was staring at the television mounted on the wall opposite the sofa with a glazed look attainable only by those who have spent several days bingeing Netflix.

_You are sixteen, going on seventeen._

_Fellas will fall in line!_

“Don’t do it, Liesl! He’s a Nazi!” he exclaimed. “They just bomb cities and don’t let poor Archangels sleep!”

Raphael reached for the tub of “Ultra Extreme Maximum Fudge Cups” ice cream at his side, realized that the spoon had rolled under the coffee table and, not wanting to waste a miracle to summon it _or_ get up and get it, just shrugged and drank the half-melted mixture straight out of the container.

His hand jerked a little, spilling a bit of ice cream down his chest, at the sound of polite knocking on his flat door.

“Come in!” was his call. “Unless you’re a nazi then kindly fuck off!”

“Unless we’re _what now_?!” came the muffled reply from beyond the door.

Raphael snapped his fingers and the door swung open. Aziraphale and Crowley stood in the entryway. Crowley still seemed a little embarrassed from the misunderstanding earlier that week, but he held up a bottle of wine regardless and mumbled, “Flat warming present.”

Aziraphale lifted the flap of his coat pocket and the paper crane flitted out to return to Raphael’s hand whereupon it unfolded itself back into its default state.

“Crowley and I received your address a few days ago. We figured it would be prudent to give you some time to unpack,” Aziraphale said as he took in the sight of the utter _mess_ of an Archangel stretched out on the sofa. “Though, I must say, I’m surprised you’ve chosen to stay in London rather than return to Heaven.”

“Why would I do that?!” sputtered Raphael. “I was stuck in a _jail cell_ for eleven years!”

“Yeah, angel, just look at the poor sod,” came Crowley’s reply as he waved at Raphael’s… everything.

Raphael had on only one oversized tartan sock, a pair of boxers reading “I’m not Irish but kiss me anyway”, a tank grey top stained liberally down the front with melted ice cream, and his sable hair hung freely down his back in a riot of tangles.

“The man is obviously broken from his imprisonment. He’s but a shell of his former angelic glory,” Crowley finished.

Raphael looked mildly offended and Aziraphale covered his eyes with his hand. “No, dearest. He always looks like that,” the Principality groaned as he tried not to acknowledge the second highest of Heaven’s Host currently attempting to suck the liquified ice cream out of his own shirt.

At Aziraphale’s admission, Crowley’s face did a strange contortion of _several_ different facial expressions, before finally blurting out, “ _How_ are you a doctor?!” in Raphael’s direction.

The Archangel just shrugged, decided that attempting to lick the stain on his tank top away wasn’t getting him anywhere, and whipped the garment off his head and across the room so fast that it was practically a blur. 

“I’m glad you two came by for a visit. I have _so_ many questions about how Armagedidn’t went down,” he said, scratching his toned chest.

Aziraphale _still_ hadn’t pulled his hand away from his face.

“And we’d be _happy_ to tell you. Just _please_ put some clothes on!” he answered, exasperated.

Raphael rolled up his one tartan sock.[2] “What’s wrong with the way I am now?”

“Because-”

“Because we’re going _out!”_ Crowley declared. “I think it’d be fun if we all went and got some lunch and did our catching up.”

“ _Thank you, dearest,”_ Aziraphale whispered at the same time Raphael said, “Sounds fun to me.”

The Archangel snapped his fingers and dressed himself in a pair of dark jeans and pastel-blue dress shirt with the first few buttons artfully undone and his hair once more perfectly straight. “What are you guys in the mood for? I know a _great_ place for vegetarian Pho.”

*~*~*~*~*

1 **Assistant Star-Maker:** "Raphael, sir, what should we build this nebula out of?"

**Raphael** : BIG-ASS EXPLOSIONS!

**Assistant Star Maker** : "Sir?"

**Raphael** : DID I STUTTER?![return to text]

2It was a thigh-high.[return to text]

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael at any Point in Time:**


	2. Catching Up

Raphael was overjoyed to see that “It’s All Pho and Games” was still standing after a decade, and he stated as much all the way through the front doors and right up until the trio was seated at their booth.

“I really _have_ missed being on Earth,” the Archangel sighed morosely after the waitress came and took their orders. 

“I can imagine so,”

Aziraphale reached across the table and covered his _Qaal’s_ hand with a comforting pat.

“Thanks, Azi. It wasn’t _too_ bad; I still had some degree of comfort, but it did get pretty lonely not being able to talk to you,” Raphael said, his voice a little wobbly. “I kept trying to Call out through our Bond, but that obviously wasn’t getting me anywhere. That stupid cell was blocking all my attempts.”

“Is _that_ why none of _my_ Calls worked either?” gasped Aziraphale.

“Yep. Worked just like a Signal Jammer,”

Crowley’s head whipped back and forth between the angels like he was watching a _very_ high-stakes ping pong match.

“What are you two talking about? ‘Calls’? Like, a phone call?”

Raphael and Aziraphale both turned to face him at the same time and Crowley felt just a touch unnerved at how in sync they were. 

_He really_ is _Of Raphael,_ he thought.

“No, dearest,” Aziraphale explained. “A ‘Call’ is what angels use to communicate with each other while in their True Forms. Since Raphael and I share a Bond of shared Grace, we can Call down it, no matter how far apart we are.” His words were kind, but a nervous gleam shone in those celestial blue eyes; as if he were afraid of offending the demon somehow.

“You were an angel, once. I thought you knew about Calls,” Raphael said, arms splayed out in a gesture of supplication.

Crowley just slouched in his seat at the booth and waved a flippant hand.

“I don’t really have a lot of memories from my time before the Fall,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale sensed that the mood was quickly beginning to sour and scrambled to fix it.

“How about demons then, dearest? Do you have a way of communicating with other demons in True Form?”

“Yeah, though it’s not pretty. It’s really just a bunch of growls and snarls,”

“Really? Can we hear it?”

Raphael was leaning forward eagerly. He hadn’t really ever had the chance to speak with a demon one-on-one (that he didn’t immediately smite afterwards), so this was somewhat of a learning opportunity for him! “Please?”

“Archangel Raphael-”

“Oh just Raph, please,”

“ _Raph,_ then. I don’t mind giving a brief linguistics lesson, but the humans around us might start reacting pretty poorly to a guy speaking in demonic tongues,”

Raphael snapped his fingers and all movement around them stilled. “Taken care of!”

Aziraphale just shot his _Qaal_ an exasperated look. “Really, Raphael? In the middle of lunch?”

Raphael just returned Aziraphale’s annoyed look with his own smug smile (one that Crowley had seen one too many times on his _own_ angel’s face). 

“Alright, Raph, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”

Raphael wiggled in his seat ( _“Oh fuck they even wiggle like each other!”_ ).

“Thank you, Crowley,”

The demon sat upright, and began his infernal Speech.

It started quiet, and both angels at the table quickly became aware of a faint buzzing sound that rattled in their skulls. It felt like a very low frequency noise, just on the cusp of being inaudible but also enough to constantly niggle at the edge of your hearing like tinnitus. Then Crowley began making a series of chest-deep snarls covered with a layer of whispery hissing. 

Aziraphale and Raphael instinctively recoiled away from it as their angelic forms rebelled against the hellish sound. Raphael felt the air around him drop by several degrees. Aziraphale watched the shadows on the wall lengthen and darken as they appeared to reach for the trio.

“Alright, dearest, you can stop now!”

“Y-yeah, Crowley. This is getting a little too spooky even for _my_ tastes!”

The demon’s Speech cut off and the atmosphere instantly returned to normal. He sat back in his booth seat.

“That enough of a ‘demonstration’, Raph?” he rasped, voice grating from the effort of his Infernal Speech but amusement clear on his face.

“Yup. Perfect. Excellent,” Raphael replied immediately.

“Now it’s _your_ turn,”

Raphael looked confused.

“Pardon?”

“It’s _your_ turn. Show me this ‘Call’ that you and Aziraphale can do. ‘S only fair,”

Aziraphale drummed nervous fingers across the tabletop. “Are you _sure_ about that, dearest? It can be quite… overwhelm-”

“I’ll be just _fine_ , angel,” Crowley interrupted the angel’s fretting. “I trusted _you_ with something personal about myself. Now trust _me_ when I say I can handle anything you throw at me.”

His words were sharp, but his expression was unbearably tender. Aziraphale gave him a shy, reminiscent of “To the world”. 

And that was the truth of the matter, wasn’t it? Crowley really _could_ handle whatever Aziraphale gave him. Whether it was a wing to shelter from the storm or an angry, heartbroken cry of, “It’s over!”, Crowley came back time and time again. Aziraphale suspected he would continue to do so for the rest of eternity; until the very heat death of the universe. “You really can.”

Aziraphale turned back to Raphael and nodded.

Then the two of them began their Call.

It wasn’t anything in particular they talked about, but the first ear-splitting shriek had Crowley tumbling out of the booth to the floor with a cry that was unheard over the cacophony.

**_DEMON. FELL._ ** [1]

**_YES. UNHARMED?_ ** [2]

Raphael’s Call was piercing and Crowley swore he could feel it all the way in his _teeth_. Aziraphale’s was just as loud, but with a tittering, musical tone that the demon, even as incapacitated as he was, found beautiful. Still, it didn’t stop him from clapping his hands over his ears and screwing his eyes shut. He desperately hoped the Calling would stop before his snakeish instincts took over and he crawled under a different table for safety.

**_DEMON. HURTING? SCARED?_ **

**_YES! DEMON! BOTH! STOP!_ **

Crowley hadn’t properly prayed in _millenia_ but he still found himself throwing up a quick mental _thank-you_ to Her that the torment had ended.

“Oh no! Crowley! Are you alright, dearest?”

“Y-yeah… yeah. ‘M fine, angel,”

Crowley crawled back into the booth (not quite trusting his jelly-like legs to keep him properly upright) and dropped back onto the cracked leather with a woosh of air. “ _Holy shit._ ”

“Language!”

“Sorry, angel, it was just…” Crowley’s eyes couldn’t seem to stay still. It looked like they had been rattled about in his skull and were rolling around like a pair of marbles in their sockets. 

“Unexpected?” Raphael finished.

Crowley didn’t look at him, but snapped a finger-gun gesture in reply.

“Oh, dearest, I truly _am_ sorry!” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Though I _did_ try to warn you…”

“ _Don’t_ apologize! I said I could handle it, and I did!”

Raphael snorted in both amusement and disbelief. The poor demon still looked somewhat stunned. “He’s fine, Azi. I can’t sense any injury. Crowley’s a demon of his word.”

Crowley preened at the praise, looking a little more like himself. Raphael snapped his fingers again and the thrum of activity in the restaurant resumed its rhythm.

*~*~*~*~*

“Y-you’re telling me you- you-” Raphael had to take a minute to compose himself through his laughter. “You two ended up raising the _wrong Antichrist for 11 years?!”_

Crowley grumbled as he sipped at his Jasmine tea, and Aziraphale at least had the good grace to not expose the demon’s part in the mixup. 

“I’m afraid so. Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth turned out to be rather pointless in that regard,” the angel sighed.

He nicked a tofu spring roll from Raphael’s plate who gave a false, half-hearted swipe of his hand. Aziraphale then smiled at Crowley with a dream-like look on his face. “Though he _was_ rather stunning as the beautiful Ashtoreth.”

“ _Anyone_ would look good standing next to Francis. You must have gotten those false teeth from somewhere around the Sixth Circle[3] because those things were an affront to God herself,” the demon griped.

“So where _is_ the Antichrist now?” Raphael interrupted. “You two didn’t… er…” He made a slicing motion across his neck.

Aziraphale and Crowley both suddenly began to wear matching expressions of shame and guilt, respectively. Aziraphale folded in on himself somewhat as he fiddled with the napkin in his lap, eyes downcast, and Crowley’s shoulders tensed up as if he wanted to be _anywhere_ but there.

“We… we wanted to, but-”

“No, angel, _I_ wanted to,” Crowley interrupted. “Since it’s all said and done, we can say it: _I_ wanted you to kill the Antichrist. You didn’t want to, even right up to the final moment.” He swallowed before speaking, voice trembling. “I didn’t want to be the one to do it, so I tried to force that burden onto you. I figured ‘what’s one more smiting on Heaven’s books’?”

Crowley could still hear Aziraphale-as-Tracy nervously suggesting that maybe they hold off on killing Adam, and the demon’s own voice shrieking “Shoot him, Aziraphale!”. Looking at Adam now, as a simple 11-year-old boy rather than the world-ending horror that Crowley expected him to be when they arrived at the air base, he felt suffocated by guilt; almost as much as when he ran into a burning bookshop thinking his last words to Aziraphale would be how he would never think of him again.

“And did you?” Raphael asked, voice carefully even. “Did you have Azi kill the Antichrist?” 

Crowley felt pinned by the Archangel’s stare; like no matter what answer he gave, he would still be found wanting. His eyes dropped to the table.

“No. We tried, but we failed. Turns out the boy was more attached to Earth than we thought. He stopped Armageddon before it ever got the chance to truly begin,” he answered.

That answer, surprisingly, seemed to satisfy Raphael. The Archangel reached across to grab a small jar of Chili-Garlic Oil and empty its entire contents over his cubed tofu. “That explains why everything was still here when I was released. In all honesty, I half expected to find this entire planet as nothing but a smoking ruin,” His eyes flickered to Crowley’s once, then back to his dish. In that fleeting moment of eye contact, the demon saw something that was akin to understanding. “For what it’s worth, Crowley, I would have done the same thing.”

Crowley could recognize an out when he saw one and grabbed onto it with both hands.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the Archangel of Children or something?” he smirked. “Because I could have _sworn_ I just heard you advocating for child murder.”

Aziraphale jabbed him in the ribs with a harsh whisper of “ _Crowley!”_ but Raphael laughed.

“You got me there!”

He didn’t say anything else, just proceeded to mix his saturated-with-chili-oil tofu and rice together then stir it until it was an incomprehensible (and tangy-smelling) mush. “You two never did answer me when I asked where the Antichrist was.”

Crowley shrugged. “Probably still back in Tadfield with his little friends.”

Aziraphale said, “We really should go see him again to thank him for what he did. _Especially_ after he restored your Bentley to you and my bookshop to me!” 

“ _And_ because he restored _you_ to me,” 

Crowley rubbed up and down Aziraphale’s arm in a gesture that was comforting to the both of them. Raphael looked perplexed.

“‘Restored you to me’? And the bookshop? What do you mean by-” The Archangel jolted. “Our _Bond!_ Back when I was imprisoned, our Bond broke and I thought that… that…” He shook his head, willing away the memories. “ _That_ must have been why I couldn’t feel you. Were you discorporated?”

Internally, Raphael knew that discorporation alone wouldn’t be cause enough to sever his and Aziraphale’s Bond. Bonds were attached by Grace, not physical form.

“Sort of,” Aziraphale said. “After my attempts to contact _you_ failed, I reached out to the Metatron. As it turns out, I got a little clumsy around the summoning circle and, well…”

Crowley mimed something exploding, complete with a little “pwaaah” noise. “Yes, that. Well, it seems that while I was, er- indisposed, my bookshop…” Here Aziraphale paused to look at Crowley. His lover’s face was neutral, but the claws digging into the tabletop spoke to just how deeply affected the demon still was by the fire. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. Suffice it to say, I ended up discorporated in a rather _embarrassing_ manner. It was only by possessing a human that I was able to make it back to Earth whereupon Adam - that’s the Antichrist - so kindly provided me with a new corporation. By the way, dearest, we _really_ should send Tracy a gift to thank her for ‘offering me a ride’ as you said.”

“Alright, angel. Fruit baskets are still a thing among humans, right?”

Though Crowley didn’t say as much, it was clear he was thankful for the diversion by the way his shoulders sagged slightly in relief.

“That explains a lot,” Raphael crossed his arms and pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. “Summoning and Transportation Circles are a little weird. They destroy your corporation, sure, but they also temporarily destroy your Grace for a split second before putting it back together in a different place; teleportation is, on a cellular level, just ripping apart your atoms to reassemble them somewhere else. I’m guessing with the whole ‘Armageddon’ thing, it took a bit longer for you to come back online.”

Raphael sipped at his drink like he _hadn’t_ just sent a wave of existential dread through the two man-shaped beings sitting across from him. Crowley was thinking, “ _I can’t ever watch Star Trek the same way again!”_ while Aziraphale’s thought process was more, “ _So I technically didn’t exist for a moment?”_

Crowley, as always, was the first to recover and _eager_ to change the subject.

“So were you discorporated _before_ or _after_ Sandalphon punched you in the stomach? Or was it after Uriel slammed you against the wall?”

Raphael choked on his drink, but neither of the other two noticed.

“It was _after_ , you silly demon. Remember? I didn’t meet up with you again until I was possessing Madame Tracy,”

“Ah, yes. You still haven’t quite told me how-”

Raphael smacked his hands down on the tabletop hard enough to send both chopsticks and silverware alike clattering to the floor. “Azi, did my siblings _hurt you_?!”

“Pfft, they did a lot more than ‘hurt’,” Crowley scoffed, completely oblivious to the Archangel’s stricken face and Aziraphale’s frantic attempts to shush him. “Those pricks Upstairs tried to _execute him_ for stopping Armageddon with me and Adam. They even went through the trouble of bringing up some Hellfire for it.”

Raphael’s hands gripped the table hard enough to bend the wood beneath his touch, and Aziraphale squeaked in fear. Crowley continued on with his tirade, heedless of the _fury_ pouring off of the Archangel. “Thankfully my angel figured out a way to protect the both of us. We swapped corporations for our respective ‘executions’. I gotta say, it was a _treat_ being able to breathe Hellfire at that bastard Gabriel. No offense to you of course, Raph.” Crowley smiled affectionately at Aziraphale, who was still trying his utmost to get him to _shut up!_

There was the sound of fluttering wings and when Crowley looked back across the table, Raphael was nowhere to be seen. All that remained of him was a half-empty plate and enough pounds to cover the bill for all three of them.

“Huh? Where’d ‘e go?” the demon asked, looking around the restaurant (and even under the table) as if that would magically make Raphael re-appear in front of them.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was strained and his face had gone whiter than it had been when _Satan himself_ erupted through the tarmac.

“What? What’s going on?”

Aziraphale didn’t turn his head, but stared at Crowley out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you have _any_ idea of what you’ve just done?”

*~*~*~*~*

1Raphael's Call. **HEADPHONE WARNING:** [return to text]

2Aziraphale's Call:[return to text]

3The Sixth Circle of Hell is reserved for Heretics; those who have done violence to God.[return to text]

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael on His Way to Heaven to FUCK SHIT UP:**


	3. A Brawl in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael demonstrates why he was second only to Lucifer himself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for neglecting this fic for so long! My other WIPs needed attention, but I missed Raph too much to stay away ;~;

Gabriel was hunched over his desk.

He hadn’t moved from that spot in _days._

His hands were clasped in front of his mouth as if in prayer and his violet-colored eyes were trained resolutely forward, unblinking.

Thoughts, questions, and turbulent emotions turned over and over in his head like tumultuous seas.

_How_ had 6,000 years of Planning _failed?!_

For the first time since the Abotchalypse (some of the Principalities of the 7th Sphere had been calling it that and he had to admit it was catchy) Gabriel let an unnecessary breath escape past his lips.

He knew why it failed.

_Aziraphale._

And his _pet demon._

Somehow, against _all known laws of reason,_ a single Second-Tier angel (the _only_ Second-Tier angel, technically) had managed to convince the literal _Son of Satan_ to abandon his Hellish destiny in favor of a _pathetic_ life on Earth.

Raphael’s whelp hadn’t even managed to _die_ properly!

The mental image of Aziraphale smiling placidly from within a roaring pillar of Hellfire still set Gabriel’s nerves on edge and his teeth almost cracked with how hard he was clenching his jaw.

 _Then_ there was the whole “Raphael” issue.

Heaven’s mightiest Archangel hadn’t reported for duty since the day of the failed execution, but that was the least of Gabriel’s concerns at the moment. He’d worry about his twin going MIA later; right now he was trying to figure out if Raphael had somehow been _responsible_ for his creation’s ability to withstand Hellfire.

Gabriel turned over several half-baked theories in his head, but none of them produced any answers. Each second that ticked by on Earth[1], he felt another thread of his sanity unravelling.

Suddenly, a deafening klaxon sounded from somewhere outside his office. Almost immediately, his door was flung open and some nameless Ninth-Sphere burst into the room, her short brown hair hanging wildly over her face.

“G-gabriel, sir! Come quick! There’s a commotion at the Pearly Gates and your assistance is needed!” she exclaimed. 

The Archangel leapt up. _“What?!_ What’s going on? Is it the forces of Hell?”

“N-no! It’s-”

**_“GABRIEL!!”_ **

Gabriel went rigid and he whispered a name.

“Raphael…”

***~*~*~*~***

The Bentley screeched to a halt outside a nondescript skyscraper. The ol’ girl’s engine barely had time to turn off before Aziraphale was throwing himself out of the passenger’s seat and frantically muttering, “Ohdearohdearohdear…”

He was about to lay a hand on the revolving doors, when Crowley seized his wrist and pulled him back.

“Whoawhoawhoa, Aziraphale! Ssslow down!” he said, moving his hand to take the angel’s. “You don’t know what’sss going on up there! It could be dangerousss!”

“I know _exactly_ what’s going on, and it _is_ dangerous - to _Heaven!_ If I don’t get up there _right now_ and _stop him,_ it’s entirely possible that Raphael will raze it to the ground!” Aziraphale retorted.

Crowley blinked once from behind his shades.

“And that’s a bad thing… how?”

“The Archangels may not be as good as they should be, but they’re still Raphael’s _siblings_ \- my _family!”_ Aziraphale replied angrily.

“That’sss _bullshit!”_ Crowley snarled. He tugged Aziraphale closer to him. “Thosssse feathery _pricks_ sent you to die without a _moment’s_ hesitation! That’s not _family!_ As far as I’m concerned, Raph can go ahead and wipe them out of exissstence!”

“You both may have no qualms about killing, but I will _not_ have their deaths on my conscience, and I will _not_ allow my _Qaal_ to risk his life and his Grace like this!” Aziraphale snapped, yanking his hand away. Before Crowley could stop him, he ran through the twin sets of revolving doors, cracking the glass under his hand in his haste to get to the escalators.

A look of horror came over the demon’s face and he pursued. He was desperate to catch Aziraphale before the angel was out of his reach. Unfortunately, Crowley’s fingers only managed to lightly brush the ends of his angel’s coat before he began sinking down to Hell and he had to scramble backwards onto neutral ground.

“Aziraphale! Don’t do this, please!” he shouted, voice alight with desperation. “Aziraphale!!”

“Everything will be fine, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied weakly as he ascended the escalator, glancing over his shoulder with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s ear!”

Crowley sputtered. At that moment, watching the love of his immortal life venture somewhere he couldn’t follow, all the demon could do was yell, “It’s ‘two shakes of a lamb’s _tail’!”_

***~*~*~*~***

Gabriel, Michael, Sandalphon, and Uriel stood in a clump as close to each other as they physically could while still maintaining _some_ level of dignity. Behind them, a sizable crowd of angels from other Spheres had gathered to watch the confrontation in silence. 

Raphael stood at the entrance to Heaven, his staff clutched tightly in his hands which trembled from pure _fury._ His long, black hair flowed around his head like oil in water and his eyes glowed phosphorescent green as if lit from the inside by a radioactive core. The air around him warped and shifted, reality struggling to contain the immense power rolling off him in waves.

Gabriel was the first to step forward, his arms held up in a calming gesture as one would approach a foaming, wild dog.

“Raphael, brother, I don’t know _what’s_ gotten into you, but you need to _calm down_ and-”

**_“CALM?!”_ **

Raphael raked the tip of his staff across the floor, sending up a shower of green-gold sparks which rang so loud that many of the assembled Host had to clap their hands over their ears. The Archangel of Madness chuckled darkly. “Imagine my surprise, ‘brother’, when I found out that you four tried to execute my son; your own _nephew!”_

“He’s not your _son,_ Raphael, he’s a… a _construct,”_ Gabriel insisted.

Raphael roared and lunged forward, catching his twin in the throat with the handle of his staff and bringing him to the ground. 

The older twin pressed down with it, fully intending to watch his brother’s eyes _pop_ out of their sockets. “You take that _back_ you over-stuffed _pigeon!”_

A sword swung towards Raphael’s head. It wasn’t a familiar, flaming shortsword, but a claymore that crackled with ice and lightning. Raphael rolled off of Gabriel’s chest and to the side, narrowly avoiding his skull being split down the middle.

He jumped to his feet and blocked the next blow with his staff, coming face-to-face with Michael’s outraged countenance.

“Raphael! Stop this _immediately!_ Do you think Mother will allow you to keep your position as an Archangel if you continue behaving this way!” they barked.

Their opponent raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “What about _you?_ What happened to _protecting?_ What happened to the angel who loved their family and wept after casting Lucifer out?”

Michael gasped and staggered back. The claymore went limp in their hand. “I… I don’t…”

Raphael turned away from them and pointed his staff at Sandalphon.

“And _you!_ You used to love making Mother happy. It was all you ever wanted out of existence! Do you think she’d be happy with you _now_ after finding out you _punched_ Azi in the stomach and _threatened him?!”_ he demanded to know.

“He’s a _traitor,”_ Sandalphon sneered. “If it were up to me-”

His words died in his throat when he suddenly found himself practically nose-to-nose with his _furious_ older brother. Raphael’s next words were so quiet that Sandalphon almost didn’t hear them.

“I would choose my next words _very carefully_ before I break every bone in your Corporation. Even the _little ones in your ears…”_

Behind him, Raphael listened to the sounds of Gabriel gagging and sucking in chest-rattling breaths as Uriel helped him to his feet. The gold-flecked Archangel’s face was impassive, but the trembling in her words was audible.

“Brother… Aziraphale needed to be _punished,”_ she said. “We were just doing our _duty!_ As should you! What about your loyalties to Heaven?!”

To everyone’s surprise, Raphael sighed and lowered his staff until the tip of it clanged against the floor. He hid his face behind one hand, shaking his head. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with resignation.

“Oh, Uriel… I haven’t been loyal to Heaven in over 6,000 years…”

Saying so, he brought his staff around to bear, fully intending on knocking his youngest sibling’s head clean off their shoulders, when a single voice rang out, **_“STOP!!”_ **

All the gathered Host turned to see Aziraphale standing just inside the Gates, puffing as if he’d run a kilometer. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and his shoulders shook with tension.

“Azi? What are you doing here?” Raphael asked, the gentleness in his voice belying his earlier savagery.

Aziraphale carefully approached, his movements slow and deliberate. “Don’t do this, _Qaal._ Please… come back to Earth with me.” He held out a hand and Raphael flinched away, trying to keep his staff out of his son’s reach, still haunted by what had happened the _last_ time Aziraphale touched it.

Raphael gave him a pained look, the grip on his weapon slackening a little. “You… you can’t really expect me to just walk away? After what they tried to do?! For Mother’s sake they could have… could…”

“But they _didn’t,”_ Aziraphale replied stubbornly. He reached out again and this time Raphael didn’t startle. The blonde angel took his _Qaal’s_ free hand in both of his own. “It’s _over._ The two of us survived, the Earth is still here, and we’re _together_ again. Come home, Raphael.”

Raphael’s hand that still clung to his staff trembled so hard it looked like it was about to rattle off at the wrist.

No one moved.

Then, finally, he exhaled a long, slow breath and his staff dissolved back into the Aether from whence it came. He gave his son a wobbly, slightly chastised smile, then turned to face his siblings. He levelled them all with an intense glare.

“I’m going home - to _Earth,”_ he growled, making sure to make eye contact with all four of them. “Short of answering a Summons from Mother Herself, I will _not_ be coming back. If _any_ of you try to hurt my little Azi _or_ his partner again…”

He let the threat hang in the air. His time as Chief Starmaker had taught him that imagination was a powerful tool. If it was left to fester, people would conjure up their own worst-case scenarios.[2]

Raphael felt a tug on his hand and he looked back to Aziraphale, who was leading him slowly back through the Gates and towards the escalators. The Archangel of Healing took one last opportunity to glower over his shoulder at the rest of his “family”, before following his _true_ family back where they both belonged.

***~*~*~*~***

Crowley paced anxiously back and forth across the asphalt in front of the building that led to his and Aziraphale’s respective Head Offices. He’d already bitten his fingernails down to the quick, and was tempted to miracle them back to wholeness so he could do it all over again.

Then, the doors revolved, and Aziraphale stepped into the sunlight, leading a mutinously grumbling Raphael behind him.

“Shoulda let me _at least_ break Gabriel’s foot…”

“No. Last thing we need is him constantly trying to summon you back to fix it-”

_“Aziraphale!”_

Crowley threw himself at his love, smashing their mouths together into a kiss that was less of a kiss and more of a headbutt. Raphael barked out a laugh as the demon pulled away to frantically check the younger angel over for any sign of injury. “What happened up there? Are you okay? Is Heaven still-”

“I’m _fine,_ Crowley. We _both_ are,” Aziraphale replied pointedly.

Crowley coughed, embarrassed, and addressed Raphael. “Glad to see you’re okay too, Raph. Uh… so what’s going on?”

Raphael smiled, though his eyes still retained a hint of righteous anger. “After your rather enlightening revelation today regarding my siblings’ attempt on Azi’s life, I decided to take an extended leave of absence.”

Crowley’s eyes darted back towards the doors, as if he expected to see rivers of ichor flowing down the escalators or plumes of dark smoke from Holy Fire.

“That’s… good. I guess,” he said to Raphael, though his eyes remained fixed on the building. “You didn’t, er, Fall or anything, right? Not going to get into trouble?”

Raphael flipped his long hair over his shoulder with a scoff.

“ _Please,_ Crowley. I _am_ the trouble,”

***~*~*~*~***

1Time, as a construct, didn’t exist in Heaven[return to text]

2 _Technically_ he'd learned this fact from his least-favorite apprentice. (Squirmy little bastard had kept sneaking shy glances at Azi-Raphael whenever he thought Raphael wasn't looking)[return to text]

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**When Crowley Sees Raphael Storming Off to Destroy Heaven:**


	4. Dreams or Memories?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a strange dream and Raphael invites him to go clothes shopping.

Crowley twitched fitfully in his sleep. 

  
  


_The void, endless and dark, but still so warm and comforting._

_A strange, prickling sensation across his skin, not unpleasant._

_A voice, beautiful, but harsh and filled with anger._

_A sudden flash of light._

_“Get up,”_

  
  


Crowley’s eyes snapped awake in the darkness of his flat and he sat up in bed with a gasp. He still felt the lingering prickles across his skin from his bizarre dream and he slapped at his arms to try and rub it away. Through the open blinds across the room, he could see the lights of the city burning bright against the dark backdrop of the sky.

_Hrn… still night…_

He didn’t need to look at his phone to know it was some ungodly hour. He considered getting dressed to go visit his angel, who was no doubt still awake, but thought better of it; the last thing he wanted was to look too needy over a simple dream.

Crowley grumbled and rolled back over in bed.

Sleep refused to come.

***~*~*~*~***

The next day, exhaustedly slumped in a grey barrel chair in Raphael’s living room, Crowley regretted not somehow finding a way to knock himself unconscious the previous night.

The Archangel of Healing, the current Highest of Heaven’s Host, older twin brother to the Archangel _Fucking_ Gabriel, and Aziraphale’s _father_ \- Raphael - was currently bent over the coffee table, furiously typing something on a heavenly-issued, razor-thin laptop. He hadn’t even bothered getting changed out of his avocado-green boxer briefs and grey tank top (still stained with ice cream).

Evidently that was what he wore around the house.

From over Raphael’s shoulder, Crowley watched him scroll endlessly through row after row of fashion-themed blogs.

“Thanks for agreeing to come over and help me pick out some new clothes,” the Archangel said, never taking his eyes off the screen. “Being trapped in Heaven for over a decade doesn’t really give one the chance to keep up-to-date on fashion.”

Crowley simply grunted in acknowledgement as Raphael reached through the screen of his laptop, pulling out a bundle of dark-green cloth straight from the world wide web itself. Raphael slapped the bundle to his chest and, in the blink of an eye, he was standing there in a matching color smock dress, dark blue leggings, and brown boots. He gave a twirl and arched his eyebrows asking silently for Crowley’s opinion.

“It’s nice, but that’s more of a _fall_ look and it’s _summer,”_ the demon said.

Raphael made a noise of agreement, fisted his hand into the front of the dress, and pulled outwards, dragging the entire ensemble back into the laptop, leaving him once again in his threadbare daily wear. He scrolled a bit further down, “ooh”-ed in delight, then reached into the screen again, this time summoning forth something with floral print on it.

He pressed it to his chest again and held out his arms. “Whaddya think of this one? I’m going for the ‘sexy single dad’ look.”

Crowley eyed the outfit up, internally admitting that it _did_ look good. Raphael wore a dark, buttoned up floral shirt with chinos and plain white sneakers. His favorite Mickey Mouse watch found itself relocated from his bedside drawer onto his right wrist.

“Not bad. You clean up good,” Crowley said, turning his attention back to the strange dream he’d had.

Raphael noticed the far-away look in his friend’s uncovered eyes and moved to lean against the arm of the chair closest to him.

“Hey, wiggles, you look like you’re a million miles from here,” the Archangel said, flicking Crowley’s ear. “Care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?”

_“‘Wiggles’?!”_ Crowley spat, coming back to the present. “What’s with _that_ nickname?”

“You know? ‘Cause you’re a snake and you’ve got very wiggly hips,” Raphael replied earnestly.

Crowley barely managed to reign in a sneer. “If _anyone’s_ ‘wiggles’, it’s Aziraphale.”

Raphael tutted and wagged his finger like he was scolding a misbehaving toddler. “Ah, but I already _have_ a nickname for him: my little Azi. Therefore, _you_ get to be wiggles.”

“Fine then… _doc,”_ the demon hissed in reply.

The two of them shared a pointed stare, then broke out into matching laughter. When it died down, Raphael became somber.

“I’m serious, though. There’s obviously something on your mind. Tell me. Mental health is _kinda_ my thing,” he said.

Crowley hummed. “It’s not a ‘mental health’ thing, I just… I had a _weird_ dream last night that I couldn’t fall back asleep from.”

“That’s it?”

The demon shrugged. “Like I said, nothing serious. There was a voice in it, though. It sounded _so familiar_ but for the life of me, I can’t remember from _where!”_

Raphael held out two fingers on each hand, hovering them just over Crowley’s temples. “You want me to… root around in there and take a peek for myself?”

Crowley leapt up so fast that Raphael staggered away and the chair was knocked backwards.

“Whoa, whoa there!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands defensively. “I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I don’t exactly feel _comfortable_ with an Archangel - capital _“A”_ mind you - rifling through my memories like a box of trinkets.”

“I understand. You’ve only known me, what, a week? I can respect that,” Raphael said with a self-depreciating chuckle. Then his smirk turned mischievous. “Unless there’s something in there you _don’t want_ me to see?”

Crowley’s mind instantly leapt to all the times he and Aziraphale had made love over the past week. The demon quickly crammed those memories into a metaphorical box labelled, _“Do not let Raph see -_ **_EVER!”_ **and schooled his features into something smug, but simultaneously nonchalant. 

He gave a cocky laugh. “Just the standard demonic thoughts.”

“Come on, Crowley. We _both_ know you’re not ‘standard’.”

Raphael gave him a pat on the shoulder.

  
  


_“Who are you?”_

_“I am your Qaal,”_

  
  


Crowley swayed on the spot under the sudden onslaught of dizziness _._ He blinked and shook his head, but Raphael didn’t seem to notice either. He’d already returned to his laptop.

“Did you… did you hear that?” Crowley asked nervously, glancing around Raphael’s flat. “Those voices?”

The Archangel smiled at him.

“I didn’t hear anything. Must be the neighbors,” he said. “Come on, help me pick out some more clothes. I’ll even let you decide on the color scheme this time!”

He plonked down on his sofa, with the computer in his lap, and patted the cushion beside him. Crowley followed, but couldn’t quite shake off the lingering unease that had settled over his shoulders.

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raph Going Clothes Shopping:**


	5. Ring Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes shopping for an engagement ring and gets chewed out by an Archangel.

Jaime Barrande, a second-generation French immigrant, ran a moderately successful jewelry store. While not quite as popular as some of the larger ones, he nonetheless made enough money to take care of himself as well as his aging parents to where the three of them lived comfortably.

It was also Raphael’s go-to place to get his precious Mickey Mouse watch[1] repaired.

“Bonjour, Jaime,” Raphael said, walking through the shop’s glass front door. “J’ai…”

The demon standing at the counter, being shown something by Jaime, froze when he caught sight of Raphael.

“H-hey, Raph…” Crowley stuttered, turning to face him so that the object he’d been inspecting was hidden from view. “What are you doing here?”

“My watch is busted,” Raphael replied, casting a suspicious eye over his son’s partner. “I came to have it fixed. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Oh! You two know each other?” Jaime chirped, clapping his hands. It always made him happy to see his business grow via word-of-mouth between friends.

“Yes, uh… this is Raphael, my boyfriend’s father,” Crowley said.

The Archangel in question rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the intro, wiggles, but I’ve been coming here since this place first _opened.”_

Later, Jaime would scold himself for being rude. At the moment, however, he blurted out, “Congratulations, Monsieur Fell[2], on your son’s upcoming engagement!” 

Raphael’s brow furrowed at the same time Crowley’s shoulders stiffened to his ears. “What was that about an engagement?”

With mortification, Jaime immediately realized his error. He tilted his head as if listening for something, then shouted, “Oui, maman!” and darting for the back room, leaving one petrified demon and one annoyed Archangel staring each other down in the middle of an empty jewelry store.

“What’s this about an engagement?” Raphael asked, crossing his arms. Crowley didn’t look at him. _“Well?!”_

The demon gave a frustrated growl (as well as a petulant shuffle of his feet) before producing the object he’d been looking to purchase.

It was a thick ring with a blackwood base and resin top that seemed to shift between blue and green depending on how it reflected the light.

Raphael was struck dumb by how much it reminded him of his son’s eyes.

“I was, well, thinking of asking Aziraphale to marry me,” Crowley admitted nervously. He avoided looking at the person he hoped would one be his future father-in-law.

Like a Russian sleeper agent, Raphael re-awakened at the words “Aziraphale” and “marry me”. Faster than human (and most demonic) eyes could follow, he crossed the room to grab Crowley by the shoulders; not in a confrontational gesture, but more of a steadying one, as if the redhead were about to collapse from exhaustion.

“Hold on there, wiggles! Now you know there’s _no one_ I approve of for my little Azi more than you, but don’t you think you’re going a little too… fast?”

Crowley stiffened.

He wanted to pretend that what Aziraphale had said to him all those years ago hadn’t hurt, that it hadn’t embarrassed him and made him worry that perhaps _that night_ was the one where he finally went too far in his affections. Crowley knew now that Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to turn him down in 1967, but the sting was still somewhat fresh and Raphael, unknowing sod, had just accidentally prodded it.

It made Crowley sharp, just as it always had.

“Oh, what, waiting _six-thousssand years_ is ‘too fast’?”

Raphael let go of his friend and staggered back, looking visibly wounded.

Then, his face hardened and his eyes flashed a dark green reminiscent of a hunter’s forest.

“If Azi thinks so, then yes,” he answered.

“Didn’t think you’d be so _controlling_ of your son’s love-life. Thought you _abandoned_ all that Archangelic nonsense,” Crowley jabbed, tilting his head. He couldn’t resist throwing a dig, knowing that Raphael had once tried to pull rank on Aziraphale to get him to return to Heaven. His demonic aspect revelled at the sight of his insult hitting home.

Raphael winced slightly, having not quite forgiven himself for that time in 1800.

Then, to Crowley’s surprise, the Archangel’s face softened, his eyes lightening to the color of jade.

“I’m not trying to ‘control’ Azi… _or_ you. I’m trying to _protect_ you both,” Raphael said, looking at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt by asking for something that Azi’s not ready for, and then getting rejected. I don’t want _Azi_ getting hurt by being forced to turn down your proposal.”

Crowley stared down at the ring in his hand, turning it over and over. “But… we’re _free_ now.”

Raphael threw out his arms. “Of course you are! I’ll make sure of that myself! But do you _really_ expect Azi to shake off the conditioning my siblings forced on him like _that?”_ He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “It hasn’t even been a _month_ that you’ve been together, and I’d wager just doing that _alone_ took every ounce of courage he had! If you went and proposed _right now,_ did you honestly expect him to give you a tearful ‘yes’ and apologize for making you wait so long?”

Crowley looked sheepish.

“Er… kind of? That’s how all the stories go, innit?” he admitted.

Raphael made a noise of disbelief. “That’s _insane!_ And, believe me - Archangel of Madness - I _know_ insane! Azi’s not someone you can bribe with ‘patience’ and then expect marriage in return!”

Crowley’s mouth clapped shut, stunned into offended silence at the _thought_ that Raphael saw him that way. The Archangel across from him noticed, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I’m not going to _stop_ you from proposing if you decide to. Hell, I’ll even help you make it perfect. You both have my Blessing and my love, but I just want you to be prepared in case it goes pear-shaped. I don’t… I don’t want either of you to accidentally hurt each other,” he said.

Crowley felt the indignation and prickliness dribble out of him. At the end of the day, he and Raphael weren’t so different; they both simply wanted to keep Aziraphale safe and happy. The demon swallowed the rest of his wounded pride.

“I… appreciate your honesty, Raph. I want you to know that, whatever I decide, I would _never_ harm Aziraphale. I’d wait for him another _ten-thousand years_ if I had to,”

“I know you would,” Raphael said with a smile, placing a friendly hand on the demon’s shoulder. “You’ve been there for him when I couldn’t. I can’t even _hope_ to repay you for that.”

Crowley chuckled, about to brush his friend’s words off, when the sun through the glass doors glinted off the ring in his hands and suddenly he wasn’t in Jaime’s store anymore.

  
  


_Bright._

_So much light that it was hard to see._

_Beyond the glow, he could see a tall figure holding out a hand to help him off the ground._

_“Where… where am I?” he mumbled. He looked up at the figure radiating the light, but could discern no distinguishable features._

_“Welcome to Life, Cap-Mi. [3] I made you,” _

_The light dimmed a bit, and he could finally make out some of the face that stared down at him._

_Dark-green eyes the color of envy watched him impassively._

  
  


Crowley blinked, coming back to himself as Raphael breezed past him to lean on the counter and shout something in French towards the back of the shop. Something about watches and “knowing you’re back there”?

When Raphael turned to him to smile with eyes gone spring-green, Crowley felt the frisson of disquiet from the other day return in force.

***~*~*~*~***

1Aziraphale had bought it for him some fifteen years ago after Raphael had dragged him to Disneyland. While Raphael COULD have miracled it fixed, he would always know it was still broken, underneath.[return to text]

2Yes. His human name was Raphael Fell.[return to text]

3"Cap-Mi" = "Power" in Enochian[return to text]

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael Watching Crowley About to Shoot His Shot for His Proposal With Aziraphale (And Potentially Fail):**


	6. Alpha Centauri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael takes a walk down memory lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping the Picrew I used for the Meme Break shows up. 🤞
> 
> CW for accidental, bloody discorporation. (It's written as comedic rather than angsty, so hopefully that helps)

**Several Days Later**

Raphael was halfway through making himself a Mai Tai in his kitchen, shimmying along to “All the Good Girls go to Hell” which piped from his phone by the couch in the living room, when the lyrics abruptly changed halfway through.

_No fair._

_You really know how to make me cry when you give me those ocean eyes._

_I’m scared._

_I’ve never fallen from quite this high, when you-_

Raphael skidded into the room on tartan-socked feet, overshot his trajectory, and ended up sprawled face-first on the sofa with his phone merrily ringing away on the coffee table. He flailed his hand around for a moment, before he managed to grab the device and press it to his head.

“Azi!” Raphael chirped, rolling off the couch and onto the floor with a thump. “To what do I owe this lovely call?”

“Hello, Raphael!” Aziraphale replied happily. “It’s about time for my bi-monthly trip to Guillani’s for a trim. Would you like to come along?”

“Of course! You should know by now, I _always_ want to spend time with you,”

***~*~*~*~***

Later, when Raphael swept through the door of Guillani’s Barbershop, Aziraphale was already seated in one of the chairs, a cutting gown draped over his front. Beside him, the elderly Ubaldo Guillani was snipping at his curls, humming an Andrea Bocelli song under his breath.

_“Qaal!_ Just in time!” the younger angel exclaimed, glancing out of the corner of his eye.

Raphael patted his shoulder before dropping into the chair beside him. “Wouldn’t miss our appointments for the world! Er, well, apart from the past eleven years, that is,” he said.

_“Signore Raffaele!_ It’s been some time, _amico,”_ Ubaldo said cheerfully, fixing the dark-haired man with a wide smile. Raphael returned it with one of his own.

_“Mi dispiace, Ubaldo._ I was out of the country for a while. _Come sta?”_ he replied, staring at himself in the mirror across from where he sat.

_“Eh, sto bene._ Your hair has gotten quite long, _Raffaele._ Are you interested in your usual short style today?”

“No, thank you. I’ve gotten pretty attached to this length,” Raphael answered. “Though an inch off the bottom would be appreciated.”

Ubaldo made a noise of assent, then continued finishing up Aziraphale’s trim. The three of them sat in companionable, familiar silence for a time, as a few more clients drifted into the salon’s lobby to take a seat while they waited for their own appointments.

After a time, Ubaldo moved on to Raphael’s hair, but Aziraphale continued sitting quietly, eyes trained on his own hands which fidgeted in his lap.

“Raphael…” he began, worrying at the hem of his waistcoat. When he didn’t say anything else, his _Qaal_ angled his head a little to try and look him in the eye. Raphael ignored Ubaldo chiding him for moving while there was a blade too close to his neck, but fixing what ailed his son took priority.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked. He scanned Aziraphale’s face for signs of what could be causing his somber mood. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing bad, I assure you,” Aziraphale replied, quirking his mouth into a timid smile.

Raphael shifted back to the proper position in his chair, with his face turned resolutely forward. Ubaldo breathed a little sigh of relief.

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” Raphael said. Still, he stared at the other angel out of the corner of his eye, convinced Aziraphale would eventually talk about what was upsetting him. He didn’t. “Come on, Azi, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

Aziraphale nodded, but continued fidgeting wordlessly.

Then, into the stillness of the salon, he practically shouted, “I want to ask Crowley to marry me!”

Raphael whipped his head around so fast that Ubaldo was unable to move his hand away in time, accidentally slicing a diagonal cut right across the Archangel’s jugular. Crimson sprayed across the barber’s workstation and the lobby instantly erupted into terrified screams.

Everything that followed from there was a bit of a blur.

One woman with long brown hair dialed 999 and shouted into the receiver in Spanglish. Another, her friend evidently, leapt out of her seat and tried to apply pressure to Raphael’s rapidly draining neck wound. The Archangel would have healed himself, but at the moment he was a bit preoccupied trying to calm his son’s panicking over whether or not asking his demon to marry him would be the right thing to do.

Poor Ubaldo could only stand there, petrified, as blood both dripped from his scissors and seeped into his shoes from his customer’s throat.

Finally, Raphael’s corporation could no longer sustain itself and it pitched to the side, landing in a puddle of its own fluids with a grisly splat.

The sound of it was, quite literally, a death knell that snapped Aziraphale out of his own panic.

The Principality glanced down at his _Qaal’s_ rapidly cooling shell of a body, the spattering of red all down his front, and the mute, horrified stares of thoroughly traumatized onlookers. The woman who had dialed 999 was now hunched over a waste bin, making retching noises into it. The other one who had tried in vain to staunch Raphael’s exsanguination had gone so pale that her freckles stood out darker against her skin. 

Aziraphale climbed nervously to his feet and mumbled, “Oh dear…”

***~*~*~*~***

With a sound like an over-large soap bubble popping, Raphael materialized in the lobby of Heaven.

“What the-?” 

He wrinkled his nose in confusion, hands roaming over his body. He’d found himself clad in his standard-issue heavenly suit, rather than the comfortable shirt-suspender combo he’d been wearing not five minutes previously.

All at once he remembered his messy, accidental discorporation on the floor of Guillani’s shop and seized two fistfuls of his own hair with a growl of frustration. Yes, it had _technically_ been his own fault because of misplaced priorities, but at the moment, he was too annoyed to bother with such trivialities.

_“Mother Dammit!”_ he shouted with a stomp.

A few angels bustling about in the lobby paused at his outburst, whispering nervously amongst themselves. When Raphael realized his cursing had attracted something of a small audience, he straightened himself out, fixed his lapels, and set off for the Quartermaster’s office with polite haste.

Cadmiel, the mustachioed angel in charge of distributing weapons and Corporations amongst the legions of Heaven, was quite startled when Raphael practically barged into the stock room where he was taking inventory.

Still remembering how the higher-ranked angel had nearly gone on a rampage over a week prior, Cadmiel practically cowered behind his desk.

“A-Archangel Raphael, sir,” he stuttered, fingers digging into the arms of his bocote-wood chair. “H-h-how c-can I h-h-help you?”

“Had a bit of an accident while on Earth,” Raphael replied, drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk. “It was entirely not my fault, of course, but I need a new Corporation, preferably today, so expedite the process if you can.”

Cadmiel’s trembling hands reached into a drawer and produced a stack of paper thick enough to bludgeon someone to death with. He slid the bundle over to Raphael who stared blankly at it. The Quartermaster leaned back, tensing up in fear.

Then, Raphael peeled the white glove on his right hand off with his teeth, spat it aside, and licked his thumb. He pressed the sparking digit to the corner of the first form and looping, golden letters scrawled across the page, filling out the entire stack almost instantaneously with a sound like pop-rocks. The Archangel shook the sparks off his hand and arched an eyebrow.

Cadmiel shakily retrieved the Re-Corporation forms. “I… I’ll g-get r-right on that. C-come back in an hour.”

***~*~*~*~***

With little else to do while he waited for his Corporation to be built, Raphael wandered the halls of Heaven. He wasn’t sure if his siblings were aware of his discorporation, but if they were, they appeared to be giving him a _wide_ berth.

_Good._

Raphael stopped outside the massive window overlooking the Earth. He extended his senses downward to see what had happened at Guillani’s after his “death”. To his immense relief and pride, Aziraphale had taken expert charge of the situation. He’d snapped away the mess (thankfully Raphael’s corporation had almost immediately dissolved to nothing once it was vacated), and wiped the memory of the horrific encounter from the minds of everyone present before sending them along with a blessing for continued health and happiness.

“That’s my little Azi,” Raphael sighed happily, turning on his heel to continue his walk.

He had no real destination in mind other than simply killing time, but when he spotted the door to his old workshop from his time spent making stars before the Earth was formed, he couldn’t help but step in for a stroll down memory lane.

At the touch of his hand, the door unlatched, swinging open into a massive, yawning void. Raphael stepped over the threshold of the door, the inky blackness holding him up as if he were standing on solid ground. The silence on all sides was deafening, and the darkness was only broken by pinpricks of light in the distance.

Raphael spun, taking in the familiar, nostalgic sight. Once the skies were filled with stars, he and his various apprentices had been assigned to other tasks around Heaven. Raphael pinched the thumb and pointer finger of his right hand in front of his face, then pulled them apart, bringing the star called “57 AB” directly in front of him.[1]

57 AB was extremely small, roughly the size of Saturn, and had been constructed by Apprentice Muriel. Muriel was a shy, sweet angel who didn’t have much of a flair for the dramatic, and preferred keeping her projects manageable.

Raphael swept his hand across the sky and the universe realigned, depositing him in front of RMC 136a1. This star, nicknamed “Chonk” by Raphael due to its staggering mass, was built by the laziest apprentice he’d ever had, Cassiel. Cassiel had simply dumped all his share of helium and hydrogen into the single star and called it a day. Raphael still grit his teeth in frustration at the memory.

He swiped his hand again, idly browsing through his team’s creations, before coming to a stop in front of one particular star-system that had his chest wrenching in bitterness.

From its spot on the spiral arm of the Milky Way galaxy, Alpha Centauri twinkled at him from the darkness as if mocking his failure.

What many humans didn’t know was that the Alpha Centauri star system was actually composed of _three_ stars: Rigil Kentaurus, Toliman, and Proxima Centauri. Proxima Centauri was a small, Class M star that orbited outside Rigil Kentaurus and Toliman. The latter two composed Alpha Centauri AB, forming a binary star.

From Earth, AB danced so closely together that they appeared to be one single unit.

It was a beautiful sentiment, Raphael thought. 

Such a shame the idea and formation of the two had come from his _least_ favorite apprentice.

The Archangel sat back on his haunches and watched the binary star pulse with light. He sighed and hung his head between his knees, running his fingers through his dark hair.

No, Raphael hadn’t hated his troublesome apprentice, not truly. The younger angel had had such a vivid imagination and massive wellspring of creativity, that Raphael couldn’t help but find it impressive.

Lucifer’s Rebellion, however, had ruined things for _everybody._

Raphael swallowed at the memory. 

***~*~*~*~***

_Raphael sprinted through the halls of Heaven, searching desperately for Azi-Raphael. All around him were the sounds of chaos and destruction, but his only concern was for finding his son and making sure he still lived._

**_“Qaal!”_ **

_Raphael jerked around to see Azi-Raphael frozen in terror, surrounding on all sides by battling Rebels and Loyalists._

_“Azi!!”_

_The Archangel flew to him, wrapping the pair of them in a protective shield of sage-green feathers._

_Azi-Raphael clung to the front of his Qaal’s robes, trembling, unaccustomed to such violence. “W-what’s going on?” he whimpered as Raphael ran comforting hands through his curls. He fixed the Archangel with a panicked stare. “What’s happening?!”_

_“It’s Lucifer. He’s gone too far this time,” Raphael replied angrily._

_From somewhere nearby, an angel howled out a dying scream and Azi-Raphael hid his face in Raphael’s chest. “We have to_ **_do_ ** _something, Qaal! We can’t let this continue!” he wept. Raphael hugged him tighter._ **_“I_ ** _will do something, Azi. I need_ **_you_ ** _to go to my old workshop. It’s been abandoned, but the door will open for you. I want you to go there, lock yourself inside, and_ **_don’t come back out_ ** _until I come get you.”_

_“I can’t just_ **_hide!”_ ** _Azi-Raphael objected. “I won’t let you face whatever’s happening_ **_alone!”_ **

_Raphael glared at him. “You can and you_ **_will_ ** _or… or I’ll ground you for a millennium!”_

_“What- what does ‘ground you’ mean?”_

_“It’s something human parents will eventually do,” Raphael opened his wings, exposing the two of them to the fighting once more. He kissed his son’s forehead, before shoving him towards the direction of the workshop. “Now get moving! I’ll be there as soon as I can!”_

_Azi-Raphael opened his mouth like he was about to protest further, but Raphael’s eyes flashed in response, and the younger angel clapped his mouth shut. Raphael didn’t stay to make sure he obeyed, but took off for the worst of the melee._

_He practically skidded to a halt when he caught sight of one of his apprentices gaping up at where Lucifer and Michael were locked in violent conflict high above. Raphael summoned his staff with a noise like rolling thunder and gripped it hard enough that his knuckles turned white._

**_“You!”_ ** _he snarled, approaching the other angel. “I should have known better than to trust you!”_

_His apprentice’s sky-colored eyes blew wide in shock and he took a frightened step back, thin hands lifted to defend himself._

_“R-Raphael, sir, it’s… this isn’t my fault!” he whimpered. “I didn’t want_ **_this!”_ **

_“Well, you have it!” the Archangel growled, moving closer. “I’m sure you’re quite pleased with yourself.”_

_The apprentice feebly shook his head, strawberry-blond hair whipping his shoulders. “N-no, I…” Tears began rolling down his cheeks. “I…”_

_Their standoff was interrupted by a piercing scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of Heaven itself. They both looked up in time to see Lucifer plunge out of the sky, howling wildly as his entire physical form ignited into flame._

_Raphael could only look on in speechless dismay as his older brother vanished from sight, ash and smoke trailing in his wake. His fingers went limp and his staff clattered to the ground. He would have gone to his knees in grief, were it not for his apprentice suddenly kneeling before him, clutching fingers scrabbling at his robe in supplication._

_The lower-ranked angel’s eyes were manic with terror. “P-please, Raphael, please don’t- I don’t want to go with him!_ **_Please!”_ **

_Despite having watched his brother be immolated in Holy Fire, Raphael’s mind had never been clearer. Whether or not his apprentice had truly wished for what would later come to be called “The Fall”,Raphael couldn’t say._

_All he knew for certain was that an angel he had once been begrudgingly fond of was now begging for mercy from him; for mercy from the weight of what he’d done._

_So Raphael reached down and delivered it._

***~*~*~*~***

In the present, Raphael climbed back to his feet.

He’d been lost in memory long enough.

It was time to go home.

As he exited his workshop, he cast one last look back over his shoulder at Alpha Centauri AB. 

It stared back at Raphael, as if condemning him for the crime he’d committed against its creator.

***~*~*~*~***

1Well, it was more like he shifted the universe around his body so that he brought _himself_ in front of 57 AB, rather than moving the star itself, but po-TAY-to po-TAH-to.[return to text]

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael Upon Arrival in Heaven:**


	7. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael falls.

The interior of A.Z. Fell & Co. was a flurry of movement and nervous hand wringing. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” Aziraphale mumbled, pacing back and forth in his shop’s floor room.

Crowley followed closely behind, matching him step-for-step but not quite reaching out to touch. He knew that his angel sometimes just had to burn off that anxious energy, and keeping him in one spot with a hug or embrace tended to make matters worse.

“He’ll be _fine,_ angel. It’s _Raphael_ we’re talking about! If anything, the other Archangels should be scared of _him,”_ Crowley stressed, trying to comfort Aziraphale with his words.

Aziraphale simply continued his pacing. “But what if he doesn’t get another Corporation? What if he’s _trapped_ up there?” he fretted.

A second later, something _pulsed_ throughout Soho. Any humans would have simply felt it as a slight change in atmospheric pressure, perhaps heralding rain, but the supernatural entities inside that resided there recognized it for the displacement of energy that it was. 

A second after _that,_ something came _crashing_ through the skylight of the shop. Crowley dove forward to shield Aziraphale with his wings and body as glass shards rained down around them. When the chaos died down, he frantically checked his angel for injury.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asked, touching everywhere he could.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Are _you?”_

“Yeah, no harm. What the _bloody Heaven was that?!”_

Crowley tucked his wings away (miraculously free of glass) as the two of them looked over at _whatever_ it was that just went barrelling through the ceiling.

It was Raphael.

The Archangel lay on his side, suit in tatters, one glove missing, and seafoam-green wings wrapped around himself to cushion the impact. His long hair was tangled with bits of glass, and his face had gone slack, mouth open slightly.

Aziraphale flung himself down on his knees beside him. _“Qaal!”_ he screamed.

Crowley took in the sight in a sort of stunned confusion. “What the _fuck?”_ he breathed, eyes scanning the unconscious angel’s face for any sign of what could have happened to him.

Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “He… he Fell,” he said breathlessly, brushing the glass off of his _Qaal’s_ wings with a trembling hand. “Oh… oh this is all my fault! If I hadn’t invited him out today he wouldn’t have discorporated and- and- the other Archangels must have- and he-”

“Aziraphale, _Aziraphale!_ Calm down!” Crowley practically shouted. He reached out and grabbed his arms to keep the poor angel from shaking apart. “He didn’t Fall! I mean… he fell through your roof, sure, but he didn’t _Fall-fall.”_

“How can you tell?” Aziraphale whimpered, fat tears rolling down his face. Crowley had never seen his love wear such a look of devastation, and it perturbed him to no end.

He stroked away a tear with his thumb.

“He doesn’t smell like a demon. He still smells like an Archangel - all sterile and whatnot,” he said, glancing down at Raphael sprawled between them.

Then, Raphael gave a weak groan, his eyes opening up struggling to focus for a moment. They were still as green as ever, if a bit washed out. Aziraphale helped pull him into a seated position, banishing the glass with a thought as he did so. Raphael groaned again. “Ugh… _fuck me in the key-hole_ that was a rough one...” He rolled his neck, massaging the bruised muscle, then his eyes snapped fully open when he saw the gaping hole in the skylight overhead. “Oh _shit!”_ he yelped. Contrition spread across every inch of his face. “I’m sorry, Azi, I meant to land on the _roof,_ not-”

At that point Aziraphale had cut him off by wrapping his arms around his _Qaal_ and pulling him in for a tight embrace. Raphael, never one to turn down a hug from the one thing in Creation that mattered more to him than anything else, surrendered happily to it. Aziraphale’s face found its way into Raphael’s shoulder and his fingers dug into the frayed suit jacket. The younger angel’s breath hitched in a sob and Raphael could feel the tears soaking through his shirt.

His hand drifted up to gently stroke Aziraphale’s back. The gesture soothed the trembling Principality and Raphael felt him relax into his hold.

“What… what happened?” Crowley asked softly.

“It’s actually really dumb,” Raphael sighed, sharing an embarrassed glance with the demon before continuing to comfort his son. “After I got my new Corporation, I walked down to the escalators but saw Gabriel there. I don’t think he noticed me, and I wasn’t too certain that I wouldn’t try to break his legs if he did, so I… took a different route home.”

Crowley blinked in astonishment for a moment.

“Are you… are you telling me that, in order to avoid your twin, you did the Heavenly equivalent of jumping out of a window?!” he practically shouted.

“In my defense…” Raphael said carefully. “I _really_ didn’t want to talk to him.”

***~*~*~*~***

Later, when the skylight had been miraculously repaired and Raphael’s minor injuries healed, the Archangel pulled Aziraphale into the back room of the bookshop to speak in private while Crowley swept the glass up in the front.

Aziraphale, still somewhat shaken up, continued wringing his hands until Raphael took them in both of his own to keep them still. “Azi… did you mean what you said earlier? About wanting to propose to Crowley?”

Aziraphale looked at him. “Yes,” he replied, beginning to finally calm down. “I just worry that…”

“That it might be too early?” Raphael piped up.

“No, as a matter of fact. I was worried that he might not _want_ me to marry him,”

Raphael bit down on his knuckle to stifle the words that almost escaped him. The poor Archangel was at a bit of a crossroads. Should he tell his son that Crowley _absolutely_ wanted to marry him, but that he’d been talked out of it for fear of Aziraphale’s discomfort? Should he keep mum? Play dumb? Or… Raphael’s eyes flashed a playful harlequin-green.

Should he do his divine duty as a parent and _meddle?_

Deciding on the latter option, he heaved a deep, melodramatic sigh and clapped his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Oh Azi, I’d always hoped I’d live to see the day my little boy became a man,” he sniffled, wiping away a pretend tear.

Aziraphale, after more than 6,000 years of having to put up with his _Qaal’s_ unique brand of humor, simply levelled him with an unamused stare.

“I have never once been ‘little’,” he said.

Raphael ignored him in favor of throwing his arms around him for a fierce hug.

“I _insist_ on you allowing me to help plan the _perfect_ proposal!” he exclaimed when Aziraphale wriggled away. “Crowley deserves nothing less than the best, after all.”

Aziraphale sighed, suddenly forlorn, and cast his eyes towards the front of the shop where his lover was busy trying to pick glass shards out of the rug covering the summoning sigil.

“He does,” he mumbled. He sounded a mixture of bitter and self-depreciating. “So I wonder why he wants _me.”_

Raphael stepped in front of him and gently cupped his son’s chin to look at him.

“Because you _are_ the best,” he answered lovingly. He pressed a paternal kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. When he pulled back, the smaller angel was smiling up at him through watery, thankful eyes. “Say, why don’t the three of us have a nice sit-down and I can tell you _alllll_ about how I scared the piss out of Cadmiel. I’ll help Crowley finish up while you go make some cocoa.”

“Ooh! Splendid idea! I’m quite pleased to hear that rude fellow hot his comeuppance. Would you believe he had the cheek to call me a ‘pathetic excuse for an angel’?”

“Did he now?” Raphael’s eyes darkened for a split second as a lazy smile crawled across his face. “I’ll have to remember that next time I see him.”

When Aziraphale puttered off to the small kitchen he kept in the flat above his shop, Raphael practically sprinted into the front of the shop and grabbed Crowley by the arm, hoisting him up from where he knelt on the carpet.

“Ah, doc, ease up on the grip a little!” the demon exclaimed as he was frog-marched behind a bookcase.

Raphael gave an acknowledging hum, but didn’t actually let go. “Yeah, sure, change of plans, Wiggles. You can ask Azi to marry you,” he said with what he hoped was a nonchalant smile.

Crowley’s face scrunched up like the Archangel had finally gone starkers.

“Uh… what brought on _this_ complete 180?” he asked, frowning.

“I, um… did some thinking, and I realized that it’s not _really_ my place to try and dictate your actions,” Raphael lied, eyes flickering to the staircase leading to the flat to keep a lookout for blond eavesdroppers.

“But… I thought we both agreed that it’d be better if I waited until Aziraphale felt ready?”

“We did, but - well - I think he might be more ready than you or I originally thought,” he replied with a wink.

Crowley’s expression, once twisted in confusion, now loosened with dawning hope.

“Did he say something?” he asked, smile breaking out.

“He, uh, didn’t _need to,”_ the Archangel fibbed again. He tapped the side of his head. “A father just _knows_ these things.”

If Crowley didn’t believe him, he chose not to say anything. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow, the picture of demonic suspicion.

“And I take it that, if I want you to keep quiet about my intentions, I have to give you something?” he asked.

Raphael’s mouth twisted upwards in a grin that wouldn’t look out of place on Beelzebub’s own mug. He draped a companionable arm over Crowley’s shoulder in a friendly side-hug.

“Look at _you!_ You’ve only known me a couple of weeks and you _already_ get me! I think you’ll make a _great_ son-in-law,” he said encouragingly. “All I ask in exchange for my silence, is that you allow me to help plan your proposal. You’d have the final say on any details, of course, but I just want to have a small hand in making it the happiest day of my son’s life.”

“You’ve got a deal, doc,” the demon said, and extended his hand for a shake.

***~*~*~*~***

Meanwhile, more than 3,500 kilometers away in northern Egypt, something stirred beneath the earth. The ground bulged and heaved, as if something _massive_ were trying to claw its way to the surface. Then, a hand shot out of the sand.

Around its wrist was wrapped the ruined, shredded remains of a Heavenly Binding Cord.

***~*~*~*~***

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael, Explaining Why he Knows Aziraphale Will Accept Crowley's Proposal:**


	8. Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael helps Aziraphale make plans for his proposal and Asmodeus takes the first steps on his path towards vengance.

**Several Days Later**

Beelzebub lounged in her throne, feet dangling over the armrests. The reports from Earth regarding Hell’s erstwhile, Holy-Water-Immune demon had been so far unremarkable. Crowley seemed perfectly content to spend his days mooning over his stupid pet angel instead of doing  _ proper  _ demonic activity, like tempting souls to damnation. 

The rancid cherry atop this multi-tier shite cake, however, was the fact that the little snake had been  _ brazenly  _ spotted in the company of  _ The Archangel Raphael.  _

At first, Beelzebub had refused to believe her spy’s reports. An  _ Archangel  _ willingly spending time with, and not  _ smiting,  _ a demon? And a lower-class demon at that?! Preposterous! The spy, however, had produced a series of yellowed, waterlogged photographs showing that Crowley had indeed been gallivanting about Soho with Raphael, chatting and smiling as if they were friends. More often than not, that too-soft Principality, Azi-Raphael, was with them, strolling arm-in-arm with Crowley.

When the spy had delivered  _ more  _ photographs, these ones showing Crowley and Azi-Raphael on what appeared to be a - ugh! -  _ date,  _ Beelzebub was forced to realize that Crowley was now close to Raphael through sheer virtue of buggering the living daylights out of the Archangel’s creation.

The Prince of Hell had incinerated the photographs with just a thought, and now had to deal with the knowledge that Hell’s greatest traitor was not only immune to Holy Water, but under the  _ personal  _ protection of the Archangel Raphael.

It was enough to make a demon  _ sick. _

She was pulled from her nauseated musings by the doors to her office swinging open. A figure dressed in tattered rags marched forward. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. They were in  _ Hell,  _ after all. 

What  _ was  _ unusual was the fact that the confident, sashaying figure dressed like a filthy beggar belonged to none other than Archdemon Asmodeus. Beelzebub’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline in surprise.

“Well I’ll be a son of an angel,” Beelzebub chuckled. “Never thought we’d see  _ you  _ again after what happened in Egypt.”

Asmodeus flicked a lock of silver hair over his shoulder, still somehow managing to radiate raw sex appeal despite his haggard appearance. “Indeed. Can you  _ imagine  _ my surprise when, after I clawed my way to freedom, I found that 2,000  _ years  _ had passed?” he said primly.

Though his tone was casual, his grey eyes had a vicious glint to them that had even Beelzebub leaning away from him.

“I take it you’ll want your old position as Prince of Lust back?” she asked, unable to look away from the vitriol in his gaze.

Asmodeus jutted his bottom lip out in a playful pout and his eyes rolled towards the ceiling as if he were considering the offer. “Later, yes. For now, I think I’d like to pay a visit to my  _ dear  _ friend, Raphael,” he said.

“You have leave to do so, if you want,” Beelzebub said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just be sure to give Crowley a good thrashing while you’re at it.”

“Crowley? The Serpent of Eden?” Asmodeus asked, tilting his head slightly. “What’s he done since I’ve been gone to warrant such punishment?”

“Ugh, don’t ask. It’s a story that would take an entire book, one four-hour radio drama, six one-hour-long episodes, one musical, and a botched movie script to tell. Needless to say, he betrayed Hell and avoided his comeuppance,” The Prince of Hell groaned, head lolling back.

_ “Oh!  _ Crowley’s been a naughty boy, hasn’t he?” Asmodeus purred, biting his bottom lip. “As much as I’d  _ love  _ to take him over my knee and give him a proper spanking, he’s not the one I want. And I need  _ you  _ to lend me a hand with that.”

Beelzebub snorted. “If you think I’m going to help you fight an Archangel, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Oh nothing so  _ crass  _ as that. Believe me, I learned my lesson the first time. No, I was wondering if you’d be willing to push the paperwork through for me on acquiring a Binding Collar,” Asmodeus said, and fell silent with a smirk as Beelzebub sat upright.

She eyed him warily. “A Binding Collar? You think you’ll be able to imprison him like he did to you?”

“In a sense,” Asmodeus said cheerily. “It’s all a bit complicated, I’m afraid, so if you’d be a doll and get the paperwork for that stamped for me, I’d be  _ ever  _ so thankful.”

Beelzebub grit her teeth so hard they nearly cracked. Still, the thought of Crowley finally getting properly punished was enough incentive for her to snap her fingers and preemptively complete the acquisition forms.

“There. Go see Dagon to get the Collar,” she told the smiling demon across from her. “And don’t call me ‘doll’ again or I’ll rip your cock off and feed it to the Hellhounds.”

Asmodeus winked. “Kinky,” he snarked, and swept out of Beelzebub’s office, trailing sand and wisps of lust behind him.

***~*~*~*~***

Raphael dropped down onto the couch beside Aziraphale, who was shimmying excitedly in place.

“So, what did you have in mind for a proposal?” the older angel asked, playfully nudging his son’s shoulder.

“I… I’m not quite sure. I thought I’d just… ask,” Aziraphale admitted nervously. He wrung his hands together.

“Is that something you want?” Raphael inquired gently, angling his body to better look into Aziraphale’s averted eyes. “If you want to just ask, you can. If you want to plan something, I’ll help.”

“I… I’d actually like that quite a bit,” Aziraphale admitted, taking his  _ Qaal’s  _ hand in a self-reassuring gesture. “Helping me, I mean.”

“In that case…” Raphael slipped a hand around Aziraphale’s shoulders and threw his other arm out in a wide, sweeping gesture. “Picture it! An open field! A picnic at night! Fireworks! Then, right at the conclusion of the evening, you get down on one knee and profess your undying love and fidelity!”

Aziraphale gasped in wonder, his eyes wide and shining from the sheer high romance of it all.

“Oh, Raphael, that’s  _ perfect!”  _ he exclaimed, cheeks flushing with excitement.

“See? Your old man might not be big into romantic love, but he knows a thing or two,” The Archangel said with a wink. “What ring did you get him?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but stopped as his face slackened in horror. “Oh… oh no…” he said, his voice sounding quiet. “I don’t have a  _ ring!” _

Raphael placed a hand on Aziraphale’s back to ground him and keep him from flying into a panic. “Azi, Azi, calm down. You’re not on a time limit. I can take you ring shopping,” he said gently.

Aziraphale blinked, coming back to himself. “Right. Yes. Jolly good,” he croaked.

It was at that moment the shop’s door opened, the bell above it jingling to signal a visitor.

“Surprise customer!” Crowley declared with a laugh. “Nah, just having you on. It’s me.”

“I already knew it was you, darling,” Aziraphale said with a warm smile.

“Yeah, the smell of demon is pretty unmistakable,” Raphael smirked, leaning back on the couch.

Crowley rolled his eyes and sat down on Aziraphale’s unoccupied left side. “Do you  _ ever  _ go home, Raph? You lurk in this bookshop so much you could put Hastur to shame,” he bit back, giving his own angel a cheeky wink.

“Don’t you sass me, young man! I will not hesitate to smite you into the next century,”

“You see this, angel? You see how he threatens me? Typical Archangel,”

Aziraphale giggled as Raphael reached across him to flick one of Crowley’s ears.

_ “You… made me?” he asked, overcome with confusion. _

_ How had he gotten here? _

_ The dream (memory?) was still so hazy. All he could see (remember?) was a pair of emerald eyes and long hair. Was it brown? Black? _

_ “I did,” The man - angel - with green eyes said. He gave him a stern glance. “But we’re going to keep this a secret, aren’t we? There was only supposed to be  _ **_one,_ ** _ after all.” _

Crowley leapt upright with a hoarse cry. Raphael and Aziraphale wore matching looks of shocked concern.

“Dearest, are you alright?” the younger of the two angels asked, reaching out to comfort the trembling demon.

“I was just  _ joking  _ about smiting you, wiggles,” Raphael said. He caught the terrified look Crowley was throwing him and his smile vanished. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

A shiver ran through the demon, his eyes fixed resolutely on Raphael’s own which had gone a hideous lime-green. He felt himself stagger backwards against a bookshelf.

The Archangel’s mouth dropped open a little, then pressed itself into a hard line. He stood from the couch, fists clenched at his sides. Crowley flinched like he expected to be struck and that only served to deepen Raphael’s anguish.

_ “Qaal,  _ what are you-”

“I… I’m going back to my apartment, Azi,” he replied, eyes fading to laurel. “I can see that my  _ lurking  _ has made your partner uncomfortable.”

Before Aziraphale could stop him, Raphael disappeared, leaving behind only the faint smell of antiseptic. As soon as he was gone, Crowley visibly relaxed.

That is, until Aziraphale turned angry eyes to him.

“Just  _ what  _ has gotten into you?!” the angel demanded. “For goodness’s sake you acted like Raphael was about to bite your head off!”

Crowley ran his fingers through his own hair, a clear tell that he was anxious. He kept staring at the floor.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, stuffing one of his hands into his pockets. “I just- I got this really  _ weird feeling  _ and I… I had to get away from him.”

“‘Weird feeling’?” Aziraphale echoed, placing a hand on Crowley’s arm. “Has this happened before?”

“Yeah, a few times. Nothing as bad as today, though,” his partner replied, looking contrite.

“Oh dear. I know you probably don’t want to do this, but perhaps we should talk to Raphael about it? Maybe he can help,”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Crowley sighed, pressing a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. “I acted like a right knob, eh?”

Aziraphale pinched his thumb and pointer finger together. “Just a smidge, darling. I’m sure if you go apologize, he’ll happily accept.”

***~*~*~*~***

Dagon was gills-deep in a pile of paperwork when they felt a fellow demon approach their weighed-down desk.

“If you’re here about your Recorporation Forms you first need to fill them out in triplicate and  _ then-”  _

“I’m not here about a new Corporation, my sweet little guppy,”

Dagon jolted in surprise, scattering a few papers. Asmodeus smiled and leaned over the desk, flashing a set of flawless white teeth. “I’m actually here about my Binding Collar requisition. Beelzebub, darling thing, was so kind as to push the paperwork through for me so I’m here to pick it up.”

Dagon stared at Asmodeus, fairly certain that the last time the Prince of Lust had been seen was over 2,000 years ago. If that was the case, he was  _ exceedingly  _ behind on his paperwork. Dagon opened one of the hundreds of rusty filing drawers in their office under “A” for Asmodeus and reached in. They expected to feel a massive backlog of forms, but instead their hand closed around a strip of leather. They fished it (no pun intended) out and stared at it.

The Binding Collar looked no different than what you would find in an Earthly pet shop (or BDSM dungeon). It was a simple circle of black leather, the ends affixed together with a silver buckle. Despite its modest appearance, the Collar thrummed with power. Reluctantly, Dagon passed it to Asmodeus.

“I, er… hope this is to your satisfaction,” they said, uncomfortable with the hungry look the other demon was giving the Collar.

Asmodeus accepted the object with a pleased noise. “Oh not yet,” He held it up to the flickering bulb overhead, his own manic reflection staring back at him from the gleaming surface of the buckle. “But it  _ will be.” _


End file.
